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Twas in my home, and his. 









THE PLIGHT 0F THE 
HUMMING BIRDS 


A POEM 


BY 


LUTHER WESLEY PECK, D.D. 


i ( 






“As birds flying.”—Isa. xxxi, 5 


c o mte HT 

DEC SO 189 

WASHES'' 



NEW YORK: HUNT & EATON 
CINCINNATI: CRANSTON & CURTS 






Copyright by 
HUNT & EATON, 
1894 . 


Composition, electrotyping, 
printing, and binding by 
Hunt & Eaton, 

150 Fifth Ave., New York. 


W. H. PEARCE, D.D., 

Pastor of the Elm Park Methodist Episcopal Church, 
of Scranton, Pennsylvania, 
and 

to all lovers of the Good, the Beautiful, and the True, 

THIS POEM 

is affectionately inscribed by 
THE AUTHOR. 




“ There is no little bird, 

Tender soever, but is Jove's own care.” 

—Keats’s Endymion, Bk. IV. 

“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and 
one of them shall not fall on the ground without 
your Father.” 

—Words of Jesus, Matt. x. 29. 


7 



“ In the fair Wyoming, 
Suddenly outflew 
The humming bird to view. 




THE FLIGHT 


OF THE 

HUMMING BIRDS. 


JN the fair Wyoming, 

Suddenly out Few 
The humming bird to view. 

With sweet unconsciousness 
Of all his radiant dress, 

He drank, with rapture new, 

From lily’s cup, 

And honeysuckle’s lip, 

The nectared dew, 

And kissed the rose 
Whose perfume sweet 
Seemed sweetest at the brief day’s close. 
Then to his home, 


11 




Above the plain an orchard lay. 







With swift delight, 

In arrowy flight. 

Beneath the golden sun, 

The humming bird, exultingly, did come. 

'Twas in my home, and his-, 

’Twas joy to him, and bliss 
To me; 

In nature’s free and undisturbed domain, 

The vale spread wide, like Eden’s flowery plain. 
Above the plain an orchard lay, 

A brook flowed babbling down. 

And dark against the waning day, 

And dark against the wood, 

And darkly rising o'er the vale, the towering 
mountain stood. 

On a far-off tree on a rocky crest, 

The humming birds had built their nest, 

A tiny, lichened cup, embowered, entwined, 

And hard for bird, or beast, or man to find. 

is 



Where Susquehanna outward streams 
From Northern lakes, and Southward gleams. 







Yet, in seclusion sweet, 

O’erlooking all that verdure, 

Where river and brook, and vale, and lofty 
mountain meet. 

The towering breaker then, 

Had scarce been built by men, 

Nor hammer of Thor had broken the rocks asun¬ 
der, 

Nor secret mine rolled out its muffled thun¬ 
der; 

This is the land the poets dreamed, 

For which they longed, with ceaseless joy and 
wonder, 

Where Susquehanna outward streams 
From Northern lakes, and Southward gleams 
Through vales, and meads, and rock defiles, 
Where sleep the unnumbered, blessed isles, 

To where, on distant Chesapeake, 

From wastes of many thousand miles, 

The billows of the Atlantic break, 

19 



And great Columbus found the keys, 

Which ope the golden gates, through all the 
Indian seas. 

Pilgrim traveler, hastening down, 

To regions far remote and lone, 

List! as the panther’s cry is heard; 

Hark! to the wood, by the wild deer stirred; 
Pause! on the side of the darkling hill 
At the plaintive note of the. whip-poor-will. 

By the humming bird a flash is given, 

As when a meteor falls from Heaven; 

And busy wings and glossy vest 
Lie still within the fairy nest; 

And in his dreams, the humming bird, 

Again, the whip-poor-will hath heard; 
‘‘Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will, whip-poor- 
will.” 

And far away, beneath the moon. 

Comes answer soon, 

“ Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will,” 

21 




And on the mountain, vast and lone, 

The eternal stars shine sweetly down. 

Brightest winglet of the earth, 

Where did’st thou have thy wondrous birth ? 
Was't in the far Alaskan woods, 

Or near Niagara’s swiftest floods ? 

Did Chimborazo’s dizzy heights 
Behold thy wonder-loving flights? 

Have cloud-capped Andes been thy throne, 
Or, mounting higher, 

Beneath volcanic clouds and fire, 

Hast thou then looked serenely down ? 

Now, from thy fragile spray, 

Thou fliest far away, 

To the ever-towering mountains 
And sparkling, crystal fountains, 

To chase the golden hours, 

Among the fragrant flowers; 

Make here thy home, and linger still, 

Thou brilliant wanderer on sun-illumined hill. 

23 







Bird of the sun! Bird of the light! 

Joy of the Creator’s skill and might! 

God alone 

Ever holdeth ’round his throne 
Those like thee, 

Loving, and swift, and brave, and free, 
Angels of greatest majesty. 

Them he sendeth from on high, 

Through earth, or star, or sun they fly; 

Or on the wide mysterious sea; 

So, through the boundless fields of air, 
God doth guide thee everywhere, 

Thou art his continual care, 

Tiny voyager of the sky. 

The shining way, 

Toward the portals of the day, 

For those like thee, 

Is angel-guarded, safe and free. 

Thy wondrous life from God is given, 
Thou thought of beauty lent from Heaven, 

27 




To show men what of grace hath been 
In noble youth or beauteous maid, 

Or what in poet’s word is said, 

Or what the gracious, Christly mien 
That o’er the earth hath cast its sheen 
On tree, and flower, and meadow green. 
How beautiful must Heaven be seen, 
When earth so brightly shines, 

The ocean and the sky between! 

Then what is God, who rules on high ? 
Eternal ages, make reply! 

29 



“ Veriest truths, 

By nature symboled in gem, bloom, and wing.” 

—“The Mystic,” by Philip James Bailey. 

“We fly away.” 


31 


—Psalm xc, 10. 



Bird of beauty, type of love 
Thou art, 

Angel from above, 

Or star apart, that ere too late 
Seeks and finds at last its distant heavenly 
mate. 

Haste to thy home, thou bird! 

Of traveler belated, or ship at sea, 

Often have we heard; 

But never thus of thee, 

Thou bird of mystery and glories yet to be. 

Thou in pity seest afar 
The vices of the town, 

Up into purer air 
Swiftly hast thou down, 

Well pleased to dwell in amber cloud with God 
alone. 


83 



May we rise with thee, 

Messenger of Deity, 

Ever glad to see 
On high the shining clouds 
That o’er life’s dust and duty open their bright 
abodes. 

No jealousy thou hast 
For any bird that flies. 

Through the illimitable waste 
Of earth, and starry skies, 

God with such fund of joy thy happy heart 
supplies. 

Often men are boasting, 

In their power and pride, 

What golden lands they’re coasting, 

Where thundering navies ride, 

But thou, God’s bird, hast wings better than all 
beside. 


35 





Like to man art thou, 

In love with solitudes, 

The boundless plain, the mountain's brow, 
Where light and thunder broods, 

And God sublimely moves in nature’s varying 
moods. 

Thy tiny mate delights 
To seek with thee some spot, 

Where, near thee in her flights, 

A friend thou lackest not; 

But only from thy foes, thou soon art far re¬ 
mote. 

As thy bright way thou wingest, 

All birds thy praises sing; 

When, everywhere thou bringest 
Amidst their caroling, 

To Spring and radiant Summer, the flashing of 
thy wing. 


37 




Did a winged flower pass by, 

In beauty never told ? 

Or golden butterfly 
His silken wings unfold ? 

o 

Or was't the humming bird, with azure, green, 
and gold ? 

Was it thy plumage bright, 

Among thy numerous [lowers, 

Or flash of golden light 
Above the city towers ? 

Where is thy dwelling place when the dark 
storm cloud lowers ? 

Go, thou beauteous bird! 

Through all Wyoming's bound, 

Wherever song is heard, 

Or blue-eyed Gertrude found, 

Let life, and love enchanting, everywhere 
abound. 


39 



Or where the dark, lustrous eye 
Doth of Wyoming speak, 

And true heart seek the sky; 

No threatening ill shall break, 

But love like starry eve or dewy morning 
wake. 

All beauty is from Heaven, 

In earth, or sea, or air, 

'Tis from our Father given, 

And hath his tenderest care; 

In every creature, view some glory hidden 
there. 

The flash from beauty Hung, 

The wondrous gift of song, 

That flows from sweetest tongue, 

Tell all the years along, 

God rules benignly still, his starry worlds 


among. 


41 





Upon the wide and silent moor, 

The humming bird his presence brings 
To lowly cottage of the poor, 

And swiftly flings 

Sweetest music from his ever-glorious wings. 


No sentinels or wardens 
Elude his watchful eyes, 

Through all the city gardens 
The magic wanderer flies, 

While round him in the heavens the clouds and 
mountains rise. 

And to the sick child's flower, 

That, in the window high, 

Looks out upon cathedral tower, 

Midst pillars of the sky, 

A visitant of love, the humming bird doth fly. 

43 



“ Mother, my flower keep; 

Here humming birds will roam; 

Mother, do not weep! 

Soon will the angels come, 

And we shall have with God our ever-beauteous 
home.” 

Thus the dear child said, 

And closed her loving eye; 

The mother saw that she was dead. 
Without a lingering sigh, 

An angel bright had passed beyond the starry 
sky. 

Bird of wondrous beauty! 

Vision of light thou fliest, 

In thy pleasing duty, 

Thou with angels viest, 

Whose work is done through love—and love is 
always highest. 

45 





O, could we climb the clouds with thee, 

Bird of glorious mystery, 

And then once more our loved ones see, 
Who went so far beyond the sky, 

We, too, would fly away—to Heaven itself 
would fly. 

And from all earthly cares be free; 

O, sorrowing one, no longer sigh, 

You soon may as the angels be; 

The heavenly world is drawing nigh; 

Christ died for thee; accept thine immortality. 

Fast through the cloudless day 
The sun was slanting to the West, 

The humming bird flew on her way 
Toward her chosen rest, 

Among her charming loved ones, in her downy 


nest. 


47 



> > 


“ She only touched a flower, 
She flashed by tree and bower 







She like an angel passed 
In greatest haste, 

She only touched a tlower, 

She flashed by tree and bower, 

And on love's swiftest wings flew with the 

o 

shining hour. 

She reached her home elate, 

And saw the nest near by, 

She saw her beauteous mate 
And nestlings upward fly, 

With golden wings, erelong to pierce the vaulted 
sky. 

O, wild, adventurous flock, 

Winged and innumerable, 

Who launch from tree and rock,— 

So wise the time to tell, 

Why seek ye thus, afar in Southern lands to 
dwell ? 


si 




“ God doth our armies lead,” 

Say the swift birds of air; 

“ Mountains shall not impede 
To reach those regions fair, 

Beyond these wintry climes; our flowery rest is 
there.” 


The little birds are trying 
Their beauteous wings; 

Trying, trying, trying, 

Flying, flying everywhere, 

And each fledgling brings 
A shining plumage on the air, 

And watchful parent birds are there 
With the birdies flying, 

Flying, flying, flying, 

As with angels vying; 

Flying from the North, 

Toward the sunny South, 

53 



Flying, everyone 
Chasing the great sun 

Till the land of light and living flowers is won. 
Flying, flying, Hying, 

Still the birds are living, 

As if there were no dying, 

No bird with hunger crying. 

In placid ranks they’re sailing, 

Far from earth's sad bewailing, 

Each bird elate calling to its mate, 

With love o’er all prevailing, 

To happier realms they're sailing, 

Beneath the Southern Cross, 

They’re never at a loss. 

And when the sun returns, 

And o’er the Equator burns, 

The Northern Summer pure 
They seek, the starry cynosure. 

Above the thunders rolling, 

And bells of mournful tolling, 

S5 



































The joyful bells are ringing, 

And happy birds are singing, 

And lily bells are swinging. 

The earth is surely Hying 
Unto a realm undying, 

As saith the Word 
Of Heaven’s ascended Lord. 

Then let us cease repining, 

Our best love intertwining 
The gemmed foundation stones, 
Heaven's everlasting thrones, 
Where all our treasures are 
Safe in his care. 

Then soar aloft, thou wing of bird, 
Bird’s wing and glossy feather 
God made to soar together. 

So toward a heavenly throne 
Soars each immortal one, 

With angel following, 

57 


































■ 











Which will to glory bring 
Our souls immortal, 

Through thy great love, without one broken wing; 
When shall we open see the heavenly portal ? 
And enter—all— 

And all for evermore ? 

Thy matchless love and heavenly mercy sing? 

Before the heavenly gate, entranced, we wait; 
Upon the golden street, the angels meet. 

Day without night, 

In Heaven’s unclouded light, 

Before Thy feet, 

The ages take their flight 
In bliss complete. 

The gates of pearl and gold all silently unfold. 
Uncounted as the sand, the saved from sin— 

The heavenly symphonies begin; 

Then O, thou blessed Christ, arise and let us in! 

59 



NOTES. 


NOTE A.—The humming bird is found only on the con¬ 
tinent of America. “It is remarkable for the metallic 
brilliancy of its plumage, and for the swift motion and noise 
of its wings in flight.” It is often seen in the States of New 
York and Pennsylvania. 

At the Columbian Exposition at Chicago in 1893, the 
Mexican Department of Birds was very interesting. The 
peculiar marking of the Mexican humming birds was blue 
on the back and wings, and golden or metallic green on the 
breast and throat. 

The ruby-throated humming bird, a gem of beauty, three 
and one half inches long, is the smallest of birds. It is part 
of the historic glory of the continent. The Spaniards found 
it here when they invaded Mexico. The humming bird lays 
two small white eggs about the size of peas. Its range is 
from Alaska to Terra del Fuego. 

In 1893 a beautiful humming bird visited the home of the 
writer in the city of Scranton, Pa. The back of this bird 
was a brilliant metallic green ; his breast was flecked with 
gold, and his flight was like a flash from heaven. A smaller 

bird, a female, was also beautiful, but not so brilliant. 

61 





Wig 


Old Homestead at Forty Fort 


















There are from two hundred to four hundred species of 
humming birds. They are very shy of danger. Self-pres¬ 
ervation is the first law of birds as well as of men ; but they 
soon come to know their friends. The humming bird ben¬ 
efits the flowers. He enjoys their fragrance and clears their 
cups of small insects. When confined, even in a large 
room, his swiftness is apt to lead to his destruction. No 
bird has a better right to liberty. Who could wish to de¬ 
prive so beautiful a creature of its freedom ? 

B.—The Wyoming Valley in which occurs the opening 
scene of this poem, was the place of my birth. It was also 
that early paradise to me, the home of my grandparents. 
The Wyoming Valley is four times as long as the classic 
vale of Tempe in Thessaly, being twenty-one miles long 
and three miles average width, with a variety of rolling hill, 
level plain, gliding river, and towering mountain. There I 
heard the owls in the orchard, the killdeer, the bluebird, the 
cuckoo, and the robin in the tall trees near the house. There 
I listened until a late hour in the evening to my grandmoth¬ 
er’s stories of the Wyoming Massacre, and to her exhorta¬ 
tions to fear God and do right. In later years she was blind, 
but remained to the last a revered prophetess. 

The homestead stood on the river bank in open view of 
the “ Green,” the site of the ancient Forty Fort ; and the 
farm extended from the river bank westward, over the val¬ 
ley to the top of the mountain. About forty rods north from 

65 





where the old homestead used to stand is the old church, be¬ 
hind which my kindred lie buried. The pine grove and the 
flock of sheep are gone, but there, still, “the rude forefa¬ 
thers of the hamlet ” hold their long and peaceful “ sleep.” 
Forty Fort is in the center of the Wyoming Valley. Despite 
the railroads and the coal breakers, the electric cars run for 
miles along orchards and gardens, and the Susquehanna 
River winds through its sylvan paradises from Otsego Lake 
to Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic. 


W Is 



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